


descent into madness

by fangelical



Category: Creepypasta - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mental Institution, Anxiety, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Creepypasta, Depression, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Fanfiction, Flirting, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Gender-neutral Reader, Hallucinations, Horror, Insomnia, Mental Anguish, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mental Institutions, Mild Language, Mild Smut, Multiple Pairings, No Romance, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Paranoia, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:41:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangelical/pseuds/fangelical
Summary: you are wrongly accused of the murder of your best friend, lisa, and are sent to wayward mental institution after lawyers force you to plead for insanity. at first glance, the staff at wayward provide a safe, welcoming and familial-like space for their patients, putting their mental health and safety above everything else. but as time continues, you are surrounded by a weird bunch of people and learn that everything is not what it seems. you are devastated that nobody seems to believe you when you say you didn't kill your best friend but still you hold onto your innocence and sanity like you life depends on it. god forbid you end up like your fellow patients . . . you're not crazy. during your stay you begin to learn more about what happened on that fateful night.
Relationships: Creepypasta/Reader, Eyeless Jack/Reader, Helen Otis | The Bloody Painter/Reader, Hoody (Creepypasta)/Reader, Jane Arkensaw | Jane the Killer/Reader, Jeffrey Woods | Jeff the Killer/Reader, Masky (Creepypasta)/Reader, Natalie Ouellette | Clockwork/Reader, Tobias Erin "Toby" Rogers|Ticci Toby/Reader
Comments: 10
Kudos: 120





	1. 01: last night

It stained the sheets, the floor, the walls and most of all — your hands.

You don’t recall falling asleep in the bathroom, sprawled out with your legs cradling the toilet and your head and arms resting atop the edge of the bathtub. Your ass ached and your hair was matted with sweat. You wondered what in the world had happened last night for you to be in this condition. Carrying this killer headache, pounding at your head as your heart would to your chest, it was no wonder you didn’t remember shit.

You stood up from the white-tiled floor, bouts of dizziness and tight chest pain delaying your reaction time. Kaleidoscope-colored shapes swam frantically in the corners of your vision. Your legs buckle under the pressure and you stabilize yourself by holding onto the porcelain sink. Ruby red liquid corrupts its smooth, white surface and your stomach churns — you did not want to dwell too much on what coated your hands or else you might’ve puked.

Something was wrong — dreadfully wrong.

The house was so silent you could hear your brain struggling to turn its gears to make sense of your situation. Ringing like a telephone, you wanted it to stop. This peacefulness carried something sinister behind it.

You exit the bathroom, both hands holding a firm grasp on the door frame. Your head slowly turns left and right as if you were examining oncoming traffic. The hallways remained dark and empty, its deafening silence inviting you outside into a false sense of security. Hesitantly, you stepped out of the bathroom and began your trek down the long hallway. You didn’t know where you were going as the house was somewhere you’d never been in before. Despite the array of family portraits against the wall, a family of three with picture-perfect smiles, your mind could not recall their identities or when the photograph was taken. Your smile bleeds through the photograph. You couldn’t help but feel as though your smile was forced and the hands resting on your lap were clenched too tight.

“Hello? Anybody here?” You call out, words soon lost into the abyss like quicksand. There was no response.

You continue down the hallway and a sliver of light pours out of an open door next to you. The light slashes across your face and you instinctively put your arm over your eyes to cover it. You use the other hand to grab the doorknob and push, an ear-splitting creek following soon after. You make a disgruntled noise and a cool breeze blows past you.

The window is wide open, violet curtains swaying back and forth like a swing. The temperature drops dramatically in comparison to the room you had been in previously. Goosebumps littered your forearms. The room’s lights were off, the only source of light coming from the early morning sunrise. It was beautiful.

You make your way towards the window with the intention of closing it, kneeling on the bed’s mattress. As both of your hands grasp onto the lift, slippery hands struggling to pull it downward, something squelches beneath you. You didn’t notice it at first, too occupied with your task to look under you. But once you had successfully completed said task, the wetness that seeped through your jeans began to grab your full attention.

You pat down the sheets in an attempt to identify what exactly you’d been kneeling on, but the lack of luminosity in the room prevented you from doing so. However, the acute churning of your stomach led you to believe that you knew exactly what you’d been sitting in — and what stained your hands up to the tip of your fingers — you’d just repressed it. You refused to believe it was true. Memories flashed through your mind, memories you could not call your own. They were difficult to identify, leaving as soon as they arrived. So fast they’d induce a seizure in an epileptic.

You shot up from the bed, searching frantically for the light switch. Your hands groped the wall, leaving traces of what you were afraid might be blood. The longer it took for you to find the light switch, the heavier the severity of the situation became. The urge to confirm your thoughts had you practically slapping the drywall but the conflicting desire to sit in your tub of ignorance made you slap it with such cowardice. After discovering what you were looking for, you turn on the light and the light bulb flickers before settling into a mustard-like glow. You turn around and your dreaded, god awful suspicions are confirmed.

An arm sticks out from under the covers like a sore thumb, beckoning you forward. You’ve lost your mind, you’ve decided, but where’s the harm in entertaining your delusions?

You move forward and your eyes are drawn to the to dent in the body-shaped figure under the covers where a head should be. The sheets stick to this figure like glue, blood being its adhesive. Your fingers check for a pulse. There is none — only a cold wrist dampened with sweat. You take a handful of the covers and wrench them off, only to have your mangled, disfigured best friend on full display. Or what was left of her, anyway.

“L… Lisa?"


	2. 02: imaginary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you've been successfully transferred into what you'd now call your home. or what semblance of a home it might represent to you.

The car ride was long and silent, the rain sparing no mercy against the roof of your father’s hatchback. The road continued to outstretch in front of the vehicle, destination nowhere in sight. The sound of the car engine and the pitter-patter of rain filled the silence like a page in a coloring book. However, it was as though this coloring page was colored in by a toddler — patches of color unable to be contained from within their required lines. It wasn’t perfect, but it did the job.

Your head rested against the window, cold and foggy. You stared at the scenery outside, ever changing yet, in some ways, it provided clarity to your situation. One day, you are celebrating the start of your spring break with your best friend. The following day, your best friend is dead, you are charged with second degree murder and sent to the state psychiatric hospital after being deemed legally insane.

You were moving too fast to fix your gaze on anything specific, everything and everything seemed to have somewhere important to be. Important enough that it could not spare you the smallest of glances. You were tired and missed your best friend as she’d know what to do and say in your place. However, you were all by yourself. Despite being surrounded by family — your mother, father and older brother — you knew that you’d never be able to conform into their picture-perfect image of you. They once held it with such esteem, but now it’s somewhere in the back of the closet. Ashamed of what you had become, they’ve cast you to the deep end with the hope of never hearing from you again.

You are nothing to them now.

Your mother turns on the radio, tissue still in hand, and sinks into the backrest of the passenger seat. She had been crying earlier, your father comforting her with a gentle squeeze on her thigh. However, that did little to calm her hysteria. You’d only just wish she shut up, she had little to be upset about. You were the one to be falsely accused of your best friends murder, after all.

When the psychiatric hospital came into view, your mother began to cry again. A beautiful, victorian-style building that was surrounded by shrubbery, flowers and trees. The building was cream-colored with grey accents and circular windows. The car came to an abrupt stop and a swarm of journalists and reporters began to surround the hatchback, sticking the wind screen of their microphones into the narrow aperture of your window. The aggressive knocking and shouting overwhelmed you.

“What, are you fucking slow?” Your brother shouts, pushing past you to roll up the window. The reporters retreated a bit and the shouting became muffled. These were not the paparazzi. Their actions did not make you feel like a celebrity. In their eyes, you are less than human and just another headline that will help them advance in their careers.

Your father waited until the police officers at the site offered enough space between them and the reporters before stepping out. Your mother followed behind shortly after to remove your belongings from the trunk. Hesitantly, you stepped outside as well. The harsh sunlight mixed with the camera flashes reminded you of that night — memories flashing through your head, difficult to identify, leaving as soon as they arrived, inducing a seizure in an epileptic — and you trip over your feet. The gravel bites into your hands and knees, head spinning like a dreidel. The shouting, despite being only a few feet away from you, sounds like it’s coming from another room. You’re falling back again.

A police officer offers his hand to you, yanking you from your previous state, and he escorts you inside the building. You ignore the questions thrown at you, venomous and accusatory. Your family follows behind you, carrying your belongings. The walk from the gates to the entrance is long enough to make your feet ache.

By the time you’re inside the building, you are greeted by two guards who take the police officer’s place in escorting you. Despite your goodbyes being curt, it stung. This is not how you’d expect to say goodbye to your family, especially under these circumstances. Regardless of how you felt, you could not do anything but move forward.

“This envelope contains $60, a month's worth of allowance for (y/n). Distribute it how you will.” Your mother says, handing a white, sealed envelope to one of the guards. The guard, a brunette in her early 30’s, nods in understanding while the other guard, an older and clean-shaven man, grabs your things and walks down the long corridor to the right. You follow behind swiftly and turn back one last time to see your family walk out through the front entrance. You make brief eye contact with your sibling, nothing more.

“Before we get your room all set up, the head doctor wants to speak with you. Think of it as an interview, of sorts.” The female guard explains, before letting you inside said doctor’s office. You are left inside the room and the guards leave after handing your allowance to the Doctor, presumably to take your suitcases into your assigned room. You take a seat as suggested.

“Hello, (y/n),” The Doctor says. “Welcome to Wayward. It’s so nice to have you here with us.” She shoves any loose papers to the side and sets her hands on the table. “My name is Dr. Bennett, but the staff and patients call me Nichole. It’s less formal.”

You force a smile and a chuckle to be polite. You’d known this woman for less than five minutes and she’s already initiated you into her little family. There was nothing familial about a place full of mentally deranged people. You did not belong here.

“Now then, I’m not a fan of all this paperwork, trust me, but it’s required before we let you get to know your surroundings here, alright?” You nod and Nichole hands you a patient form for you to fill out along with a blue pen. It mainly asked you basic questions, such as your birth date and past medical history, nothing too difficult. As you continued to fill the form out, the questions became more personal. Questions relating to your childhood, trauma, substance abuse and your feelings about the crime you’ve supposedly committed appeared. You answered them begrudgingly and handed the clipboard back to Nichole who patiently waited for you to finish filling the form out.

“Alright now,” She beams. “How about we get you settled in now? Here’s your schedule and clothes. The rest of your clothes will be sent to your room.” She hands you a set of grey hospital clothes, your bright orange schedule being the cherry on top. Nichole then begins to give you a brief rundown of your schedule. “You’re just in time for your group therapy session. They’ll happen every Monday and Friday, individual therapy is scheduled with Dr. Solomon, or Genevieve. In between your therapy sessions and meal times, you’ll have recreational time. You can spend it in the library, art room or you can hang with other patients. It’s up to you.”

All this information was hard to process but you managed to keep up with Nichole’s speedy pace. She urges you into her private bathroom and you change into what you’d now wear for the remainder of your time living here. You look into the mirror and your deep, dark eye bags stand out above anything else. Your grey scrubs made it harder to deny your innocence in the murder of your best friend, it made you feel like a freak. You couldn’t help but tear up, the longer you looked at yourself in the mirror the more it felt like looking into the eyes of a stranger — you didn’t recognize yourself or who you were yet to become.

“(y/n), are you alright in there?” Nichole said from behind the door. You wiped your silent tears on the hem of your shirt.

“Yeah, I’m coming,” You called, and opened the door to be led to what would be your bi-weekly sessions of group therapy.


	3. 03: roll call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you participate in your first group therapy session get to know the people in it.

You enter the room quietly, yet all eyes turn to you. There was a good balance of disgust and indifference, but curiosity triumphed above everything else. You stood by the door awkwardly, feeling as though you’ve interrupted something not meant for you. A woman with brown hair, whose split ends tickled the tips of her helix, caught your attention first for her skin had looked like it’d recovered from severe third degree burns. Her skin tone was relatively darker than the guy who sat a few seats away, whose skin looked as though it’d been under the same conditions. Extremely pale and leathery, his burns seemed old but not healed to the fullest extent. Black hair falls just above his shoulders. You both made eye contact, his eyes lacked lids, and a shiver ran down your spine — it felt as though he could see right through you. Bandages were taped on both of his cheeks and he held a bottle of eye drops in his right hand.

A guard standing by the door ordered you to sit down on an empty seat besides the brunette who caught your attention earlier and you complied. Another doctor sat in the middle of the circle of patients and smiled at you.

“We have a new patient with us here today, everyone let’s welcome (y/n).”

“Hello, (y/n).” Everyone says in unison, others sparing more excitement than their peers. You shifted uncomfortably under the spotlight, staring at your feet. Your pants were quite baggy and their bottom hems dragged along the floor, you’d have to request a smaller size from Nichole whenever you’d see her again.

“Since (y/n) will be joining in on our bi-weekly sessions, let’s introduce ourselves once more. I’ll go first,” The doctor turns their body to face you. “I’m Dr. Velasquez, but around here we don’t use formalities. You may call me Kurt.” You meekly say hello to him.

“Now, how about we introduce ourselves in a counterclockwise rotation? Since I’ve already introduced (y/n) already, do you have anything else to say to everyone here?”

You wiped the palm of your hands free from sweat on your pant leg and cleared your throat. “It’s nice to meet everyone here. I, uh… I hope we can get along.” The sound of your voice was loud but lacked confidence.

“Now then, who’s next?” Kurt claps his hands, pleased with your cooperation.

“I’m Jane,” The girl next to you pipes up. Everyone, in broken unison, greets Jane. You try your best to catch up so as to not get left behind. “I like to read mystery novels.” The way she carries herself is smooth and graceful. You find yourself attracted to her.

The next person starts off almost immediately. “I’m Toby,” Like the other guy, Toby has a bandage on his right cheek, but not on the other. “I like… well, I’m n-not sure-” His words get lost in the rapid fire of tics and muscle spasms, repeating the last word in his sentence like a mantra. Toby calms down a few seconds later, but the speed of his spasms terrifies you. What’s worse is that nobody is fazed in the slightest, not even the staff.

“Are you okay?” You manage to say, eyes wide. He brushes off your concern with a nervous smile.

“Yes… ah-” His neck cracks. “What was I saying?”

“What do you like to do, Toby?” Kurt says encouragingly.

“Well, clearly, I can’t do anything I like to do without shaking and falling over like a fucking epileptic. So you can just skip me.” Toby sounds disgruntled and you didn’t blame him but Kurt scolds him for being vulgar in front of a new patient. Nonetheless, the line of introductions continue.

“I’m Natalie and I like to draw,” She proclaims. Natalie smiles warmly at you, the fabric of her black eye-patch situated on her right eye crinkling. “It’s nice to meet you, (y/n).” You return the kindness with a swift hand wave.

“I’m Helen and, like Natalie, I like to draw as well. But, if given the opportunity, I also like to paint.” Helen does not say anything else and folds his hands on his lap. His appearance, compared to who you’ve met so far, is normal. His messy black hair goes in every which way and his quiet demeanor captivates you. You want to know more.

“I’m Jack and I like to read medical studies pertaining to human anatomy and human consciousness.” His appearance would have been normal had it not been for the pale, grey-like pigmentation of his skin. It was as if the life was drained out of him. You recognized that two prosthetic eyes were in his sockets where real eyes should’ve been. This made you wonder if this meant that he was blind. You felt that it’d be rude to ask so soon.

Kurt gives him the side-eye, not happy with Jack’s response. Kurt doesn’t say anything to express his disapproval to Jack, though. You had a feeling that Jack already knew he didn’t like his response.

“There’s something by your eye, Jack,” You call out, pointing at your own cheek to indicate where the spot was. It was a black, liquid-like splotch. Jack nods but doesn’t move to remove it from his face.

“I’m Sally and I like to color, but I’m not as good as Nat or Helen.” It baffled you to see a little girl below the age of twelve in a place like this. You didn’t know if you should pity or be afraid of Sally. “I hope to be as good as them someday!” A ragged teddy bear sat on her lap.

“I’m Benjamin, but my friends call me Ben.” Albeit older-looking, it baffled you just as much that kids would be in an institution like this one. A green, liberty cap rests atop his blonde hair and you can’t help but compare his appearance to Link from the Legend of Zelda. He probably gets that a lot, so you mentally swore not to ever bring this up to him. “I like playing video games. I’m practically an expert at them.” A self assured smile crept up on his face.

“I’m Jeff,” The guy from earlier proclaims. “Don’t forget my name, got that?” He jabs his thumb at you from across the room. “I like whatever, I don’t know. Next.” The attitude emanating from this guy is unbelievable, you immediately knew not to get on his bad side.

“I’m Tim.” He sighs. He looked just about as tired as you. Besides the fine, dark lines beneath his eyes, his sideburns are a distinct feature of his. There was nothing crazy about his appearance, just like Helen. “I like to smoke, it helps me de-stress… but I’m trying to quit. I also like music.”

“I’m Brian.” He has the same level of enthusiasm as Natalie. “I like photography and things relating to film. I just have a knack at it, I guess.” He laughs and scratches the back of his neck.

“Alright, it’s a good thing that we’re finished with introductions because our time here is up. I hope everyone has a wonderful day,” Kurt beams, standing up from his seat. “Your recreational time starts now.”

Everyone begins to get up from their seats, people naturally gravitating to their friends. However, other patients, such as Helen and Jane, left by themselves. You bump into Sally on your way out.

“Oh, I’m sorry, (y/n),” She says sheepishly. You help her up after her fall and swipe her stuffed animal off the ground at the same time, handing it back to her. “If you’re ever lonely during recreational time, don’t hesitate to hang out with me!” You thank her and she skips off to spend her recreational time elsewhere.

“(y/n),” One of the guards called you. “Since you’re new here, we’ve been ordered to show you around the institution so you don’t get lost. Come with us.” You comply, following behind them. Little did they know getting lost in this institution was the least of your problems.


	4. 04: mind of an artist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you spend the rest of your recreational time with natalie and helen.

“... And this is the art room, where you’re free to sit down and create something using the available art supplies. There’s paint, color pencils, crayons and clay.” You’d been running around the facility all day, making a mental map of where things were situated. So far you’d been in the cafeteria, the library, the lounge, the bathroom, the visiting center, the yard, the laundromat and the section of the facility that were more treatment-oriented. They had a large nurses office where they attended to your injuries, a pharmacy that distributed your medicine and a hallway containing offices that belonged to their respective therapists. The art room was your final destination.

The art room looked the same as any elementary school art room. Decor consisted of paintings and drawings made by patients, old and new. Each artwork varied in artistic expertise. It gave a splash of color to the bleak, white walls you’ve been surrounded by all day long. You couldn’t imagine living here for the rest of your life — it’d drive you mad.

Natalie and Helen were sitting next to each other in the art room, both painting and chatting quietly to themselves. You couldn’t see what they were painting as the back of their wooden canvas faced you. Natalie giggled and seamlessly dips her paintbrush into her palette, brush coated in pink, before smacking it against her canvas with the same amount of grace as a wild animal. Helen, on the other hand, has his materials on the opposite side of Natalie’s. His side is relatively cleaner than hers and his hand gestures are precise. Natalie seems to be telling a story but you’re too far away to hear, Helen nods occasionally to let her know that he is listening.

“… in half an hour, you got that?” The sound of the guard’s voice tunes back in. You had no idea what they’d been saying, but you decided to follow along so they wouldn’t get mad at you. Soon enough, they left you alone to spend the rest of your leisure time as you pleased.

You didn’t know what to do, with all the options available for you, and you didn’t know anybody here. Your best bet would be to stick around Natalie and Helen until it was time for lunch, but three’s a crowd. You’d only met them once and you weren’t sure if they even liked you in the first place. You opted to spend this time alone but before you could exit the art room, Natalie spotted you.

“(y/n), is that you?” Natalie said rather loudly.

You turned around and waved, hoping she’d just leave you be, but she beckoned you to come closer. Instinctively, you came closer. You sat down across from her, next to a barren easel and some orange paint. You politely said hello to Natalie and Helen, who returned your greeting.

“So, what brings you here?” Natalie asks, setting aside her paintbrush. Helen, however, does not stop to chat and continues to paint by himself.

“I was being shown around the hospital… you know, to get a feel of everything. I guess.” Natalie hums in agreement.

“Ah, I remember when I was in your shoes…” She does not elaborate any further. “Do you like it here? How’s it feel to be the newbie? We haven’t had anybody new here in a while.”

You couldn’t respond at first, racking your brain for a suitable answer. Natalie leans in close and waits for your response patiently. “Well, I’d rather be elsewhere…” You answered honestly.

“Wouldn’t we all?” Natalie slumps back into her chair and adjusts the strap of her eye patch. “This place is so lame, and the food is shit! It’s like I’m back in high school all over again.” Your lips curled up into a smile and you failed to conceal it before Natalie noticed. “Hey, what’re you smiling about?” Natalie pokes fun at you and you laugh as she puts her hand on your knee. Your breath catches in your throat. Her hands were dirty with charcoal and dried paint but you didn’t mind. “Wait ‘till lunchtime, you’ll see what I mean.”

She was a rather rambunctious girl, a rambunctious girl that unfortunately reminded you of Lisa. The light of her soul shone within Natalie, and within the guards that you’ve been introduced to thus far. They all exhibited traits of Lisa that you could not ignore, it drew you to them. Lisa refused to be put to rest, to be forgotten — she was always a fighter.

The smile you so proudly put on quickly became shameful and you were quick to cover it up. You felt guilty for smiling as much as you did, it somehow felt like you were doing injustice to Lisa. The person who killed her is out there, roaming around outside, without consequence. They could be hurting another person in the same manner they did to Lisa. You owed it to her to find out what really happened on that night — you refused to settle with the court’s final decision. You would never hurt Lisa. And until you shed light to the truth, you will not rest.

“… here, anyway?”

“I’m sorry, what?” You had been so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t catch what Natalie had told you.

“I said,” She leans in close again. “What did you do to end up here?”

You shift uncomfortably, but reply nonetheless. And with a little bit of conviction, too. “I was framed for a murder I didn’t commit.”

This catches Helen’s attention, but he does not comment. His hand holds the flimsy paintbrush, bristles coated in red but not touching the canvas. As for Natalie, her eyes hold a glimpse of something you couldn’t describe, but your gut told you it was dangerous.

“What do you mean? Who framed you?” She was interested in the details, but you’d felt they were meant to be kept private. However, the details flew out of your mouth almost instantly as if you’d been put in a trance.

“I… don’t know, actually.” You look down at your hands, left thumb rubbing against your right. “All I remember is being there… seeing her. But I know it wasn’t me. I think I’d know if I did something as terrible as that.” Hearing yourself say these words was cringe-worthy. You sounded crazy, I bet they thought you were crazy.

Natalie was quiet, you didn’t know if she was still waiting for you to continue. But there was nothing to continue off from. A few seconds later, she opened her mouth to speak but the sound of a chair scraping against the floor. Helen holds a white, plastic cup in his hand, filled to the brim with dirty paint water.

“Natalie, help me choose which color I should use for my painting.” It wasn’t phrased as a question, but a demand. His demanding tone visibly irritates Natalie, as though she’s been interrupted from watching the best part of a movie, but she follows him to the sink nonetheless. You’re left sitting there with your own thoughts.

The sink isn’t far from where you sat. While Helen emptied his cup and filled it with clean water, he spoke to Natalie. The general chatter in the art room made it difficult for you to hear what they spoke about, but the two coherent words you could read from Helen’s lips were “shock” and “pressure”. You had enough things to overthink about.

It was a short conversation and they soon returned with a cup of clean water and a plastic plate with a dab of green paint in the middle. Natalie smiled at you and Helen resumed painting. This time, though, he looks more engaged in the conversation.

“Ah, I didn’t get a chance to ask you,” You say, abruptly changing the subject. “Why are you two here?” You hoped that by addressing the two of them, Helen would be more willing to open up to you.

“It’s a long story.” Helen says, and leaves it at that.

Natalie scratches her head and glances at Helen. “Me too. Maybe I’ll tell you one of these days, though.” You nodded. You did not want to pry into their personal affairs. You briefly wondered if they kept their crimes a secret so you wouldn’t assess their characters in a negative manner. Just as you were quick to turn the spotlight away from you, Natalie does too.

“Want to see what I’ve been working on?” She turns her canvas to face you and you weren’t sure what you were looking at. A conglomerate of reds and pinks and yellows coat the canvas in an abstract manner.

“It’s… pretty.” Is all you can really say when you have no idea what you’re staring at it. “Better than I could ever do.” Natalie taps Helen on the shoulder and he is mildly annoyed at her for interrupting his painting session.

“Show (y/n) your painting, Helen.” He looks at you, dubious, but puts his paintbrush down to pick up his canvas and show you. The canvas is nearly as big as him, so you could only see his face up to his nose. Natalie is at the edge of her seat, turning her body so she could take a closer look as well.

“It’s not entirely finished, so keep that in mind.” His painting was entirely different than Natalie’s, less abstract and containing a wider array of color than hers. An abundance of circles in varying colors spread all around the canvas, some overlapping others. Each had a simple, yet appealing facial expression based on the color of the circle. For example, a red circle had an angry expression on its face, a blue circle was sad, a yellow circle was happy and etcetera. When circles overlapped with one another, it created a new color. To the bottom right, a blue and red circle overlapped and made purple. It was a beautiful concept but, just as he said, it was unfinished. The top half of the canvas was empty. He hadn’t gotten that far yet.

“It’s… beautiful.” Your eyes were fixated on the canvas, mouth agape. “You’re really talented, Helen.”

“Thank you.” Helen says, eyes downcast. Despite his withdrawn nature, the silence that followed after his words told you otherwise.

You’re interrupted by one of the guards appointed to watching the patients in the art room announcing that your recreational time was over in five minutes. Many other patients gathered around the sink and the closet, where materials were accessed, cleaning up their borrowed materials and returning items to where they belonged. Natalie and Helen did the same and you helped them in any way you could. Soon, you both left the art room and headed down the hall, where many patients walked towards the cafeteria.

“I have to go speak with my therapist,” Helen says, backtracking. You and Natalie wished him luck and the three of you headed to your respective areas.

“Now I’ll _really_ see how shit the food here is,” You say. Natalie rolls her eyes and lightly hits your shoulder with a grin. She holds the cafeteria door open for you and for the three other patients that were in close proximity to you.

“Real funny. I hope your taste buds fall off."


	5. 05: chocolate pudding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you spend your lunch time with natalie and toby, but you don't get along with toby as much as you'd hoped for.

The cafeteria’s atmosphere is stale. It is not filled to the brim with patients as you expected. The grand majority of patients admitted here ate in their rooms. A few are accompanied by a guard, such as Toby and Jeff. Your guess would be that these guards were necessary to control a patient's frequent behavioral problems or special needs, such would be the case for Toby.

The walls were a sickly orange color, a vain effort in trying to lighten the facility up. They might as well have left the walls bare for the walls had only magnified the feeling of despair associated in a mental institution. The line of windows around the room took up a third of the wall’s space, shedding white light into the cafeteria and giving patients a view of the greenery outside — pink azaleas and blue lobelias contained in a gate of shrubs. This view canceled out the feeling of entrapment the color of the walls had made you feel earlier.

You and Natalie wait on line for your food, her talking for the most part. She gives you a rundown of the place and the people that inhabit it, including the members in your group therapy sessions, and spares minimal detail about her experience living here.

“On weekends, we have movie nights after dinner. No horror movies, for obvious reasons, which is lame. A lot of people prefer to stay in their room instead but I usually drag Toby or Helen along with me.”

“Are you three good friends?” You ask, feet shuffling forward as the line gets closer. One of the servers hands you a cardboard tray, like the ones they’d give you in public school, and a plastic bag containing plastic utensils.

“I wouldn’t consider myself friends with them. Well, with Toby at least, solely because he probably doesn’t consider me a friend.” Natalie sighs dramatically. “Contrary to popular belief, he’s just as hard to get to know as, let’s say, Tim.”

“They both keep to themselves.” You comment, holding out your plate to the lunch lady. The lunch lady put a rather dry-looking Salisbury steak on your dish and handed it back to you. There were various staff behind the counter who served specific items on the menu for today. This pattern followed until you were at the end of the line, with mashed potatoes, canned vegetables and a carton of orange juice on your plate.

“You’re right, and everyone’s always like that in the beginning, you know? I definitely - oh, vanilla, please - I definitely was.” Another staff member at the end of the line hands her a vanilla pudding cup and gives you chocolate pudding instead. “But surely they’re tired of putting up that front.”

“Maybe… you’re approaching him the wrong way. You two seem to have very different personalities.” You blindly followed Natalie as she seemed to know where she was going.

“Huh, maybe.” Natalie stops in her tracks and scans the cafeteria as if she were looking for someone. “Well, at least it’ll be easier for you. You seem like you’d get along with Toby more than I ever could. Ah, c’mere.”

She pulls you over to a table, empty except for its one inhabitant — Toby. The guard in charge of looking out for him is by the wall, standing a comfortable distance away. You set your tray down and sit down across from Toby while Natalie sets her tray next to Toby’s. Despite her doubts about the credibility of their friendship, it appears that her doubts might not carry any weight to them at all.

Toby stirs, but does not move despite Natalie’s closeness to him. He only looks up from picking at his food and gives her a warning. “Don’t be upset if I accidentally smack you in the face.” His eyes meet yours and you sink into your shoulders.

“I forgot to ask if it was okay for (y/n) to tag along for today,” Natalie purses her lips against the folds of the carton and drinks her juice. Nonchalantly, she reaches for the carton of orange juice on Toby’s tray and he doesn’t put up much of a fight. “Well, is it okay?”

“Why are you asking me now? T-They’re already here.” His neck cracks and his teeth are clenched. His movements shake the table but he manages to remain composed. You notice that his left forearm is bandaged but, despite curiosity attempting to get the better of you, you don’t ask him why.

“What’re you waiting for, (y/n)? Weren’t you just talking about how much you’ve been dying to eat the food ‘round here?” Natalie snickers.

“The food here is awful.” Toby comments. His hands are shaky, but he manages to get a forkful of steak in before grimacing. His food was barely touched but he’s decided that he’s had enough for today and sets his tray aside.

You open your packet of utensils and grab a plastic fork, shoving it into the depths of your steak and ripping a piece out. It’s a rather big piece and you hesitantly bring it to your lips before pausing. It was Natalie’s constant teasing that finally pushed you to eat the dreaded thing only to realize that, in fact, the food wasn’t all so bad.

“While it’s a little dry… it’s really not all that bad.” To further prove your statement, you took another forkful of steak and even dabbled into the rest of your food. “The mashed potatoes are pretty lumpy, and the vegetables are soupy… but I’m kind of digging it.”

As if on cue, Toby and Natalie both looked at you in disgust.

“You say that now, but it’s only because you’ve been here for less than a day.” Toby slowly descends from his originally playful tone to a more detached one. It seems you’ve struck a chord you didn’t even know you were able to strike. “T-Try eating that slop for an entire month. You won’t last in this f….fuck...fucking place.”

“You don’t know me. Don’t act like you do.” His knee jerks up against the table but his eyes don’t waver. Natalie doesn’t seem to detect the tension in the air and continues to eat her lunch. Toby’s eyebrows furrow and he doesn’t say anything to counter your statement, but your argument soon loses importance when someone slides into the seat next to you. He laughs and you recognize his laugh from your group therapy session.

“Hi, Brian.” Natalie smiles. “What do you need?”

“Wondering if any of you have a chocolate pudding cup you’d be willing to give away, Tim and I didn’t get the chance to get a hold of any.” He taps his fingers against the table as if he were playing piano.

Toby instinctively grabs his cup of chocolate pudding on his discarded tray. “Better luck next time, gah,” His shoulders jerk up and he whistles an unfamiliar tune.

“Sorry, Brian, I’ve only got vanilla.” Natalie gestures to her empty cup, the sides scraped clean of pudding. You grab your chocolate pudding cup and hand it to Brian without a second thought.

“You can have mine, I don’t really want it anyway.” Brian takes it happily and he turns his body to face you. He juggles the pudding cup between his hands and stares at you intently.

“… (y/n), right?” You nod in agreement and he stands up, already having what he’s asked for, and waves goodbye to everyone at the table. “I’ll catch you guys later.” He looks at you one final time, flashes a smile, and strides off to where you assumed Tim and him were sitting.

“Why didn’t you give him your pudding?” Natalie lightly punches Toby in the shoulder. “You never eat your pudding.”

“I didn’t want Tim eating it ei-th-ther…” Toby harshly throws the pudding back into his tray and it lands on his unfinished side of mashed potatoes.

“Why not?” You ask and he scoffs, as if you were supposed to know.

“He’s got anger issues, and has this unknown grudge against me. Dunno why, but it’s not my problem. He can get his p-puh… phew-” Another incessant continuation of ticks ensue, mostly consisting of Toby clicking his tongue.

“They’ve never gotten along.” Natalie continues for him. “But at the very least, their relationship isn’t as bad as Jane and Jeff’s relationship.”

“What happened between them?”

“What doesn’t happen between them?” Natalie scrunches up her nose. “You’d have to ask them personally.” She looks off to the side and takes a deep breath in. It seems as if the conversation has run flat. The continuous chatter in the background grows louder now that the conversation has ended momentarily. Natalie stands and offers to throw away everyone’s trays, which you thank her for, and she strolls off, trays stacked atop one another.

“So... what did you do?” Toby pipes up, waiting for your answer as he picks at an ugly-looking scab on his wrist. “To end up in this shit-hole.”

“I didn’t do anything,” You start, choosing your words wisely. “I was framed for the murder of my best friend.”

He raises his eyes to meet yours, in full seriousness, before breaking the act and laughing so hard you’d swore you’d seen tears in his eyes.

“Yeah, and my evil doppelganger killed countless people.” He flicks his peeled scab to the side and clicks his tongue. “Get real.”

“I don’t have to prove anything to you. I know I didn’t do it.” Was he trying to get a rise out of you? You felt threatened, vulnerable, scared. Your legs shook under the table.

“You’re not the first one here whose told themselves they didn’t do it, o-or that their actions were for the greater good.” He glances behind him, to see if Natalie was coming back, but she had ran into Brian again. They seemed to be enjoying themselves which was evident from their smiles. Toby turns back to face you. “You’re not an exception.”

You didn’t know how to respond to this claim. His insinuation that you had killed Lisa after all ran through your mind a million times but could not settle down.

“Natalie’s no different.” His hands shake, but he holds onto the edge of the table to stop them from doing so. From his furrowed brows, it was obvious that he was trying to suppress something. “S-S-She was thrown in here... and spoke of her innocence like a fuck..hing broken record. Now she’s proud to admit that she _did_ kill her family. It’s your turn.”

You were outraged and had half a mind to slap him senseless, but you had a feeling that there was no sense in him in the first place. 

“Fuck you.” Was all you could say, for if you had continued to speak you might’ve cried right then and there.

When Natalie had returned, both of you remained quiet. After your argument, you were in no mood to speak. Feeling satisfied, Toby had nothing more to say to you.

“Brian is so...” She rests her cheek on her hands, elbows rested on the table. “Charismatic, you know?” Natalie looked at you and you nodded half-heartedly. She noticed that something was wrong but decided not to comment.

Soon enough, it was time to leave the cafeteria. You were quick to stand and be on your way and so was Toby. Natalie catches up to you and tilts her head to the side, concerned.

“Hey, where’re you going?”

“Ah... I’m going to find someplace else to hang out.”

“Mind if I join?” She slings her arm around you and you visibly tense up. You didn’t want to believe that it was true, but Toby had successfully got into your head. Natalie notices your discomfort and retreats.

“Actually, I think I want to spend some time alone for now.” Was the nicest way you could phrase your true thoughts.

“Ah, okay,” Natalie puts her hands into her pockets. “I get it, don’t worry. But I’ll see you later, yeah?” You nod and you two diverge into separate paths after exiting the cafeteria. You thought finding Lisa’s killer would prove to be difficult, but what’s even more difficult is trying to stay sane in the company of serial killers with no regards to human life.

**Author's Note:**

> ♡ feedback and kudos are always appreciated. questions? comment down below ♡


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